Reminders
by michellewritesfics
Summary: John almost forgot about his blog. Until he checks his email and sees new messages attached to his now comment-enabled entry. In the end, he needs to be reminded. Oneshot.


Boring. How ridiculously boring. It was all so dull. The same routine, it seemed. John had been researching that a friend of his, Mike, had told him to look into, but the short man was interested in other things. He kept getting distracted by other things. Advertisements, interactive games in said advertisements, music, and the like. He was much more easily distracted nowadays, and he didn't bother to ask himself why. Maybe he was looking for some kind of fun. Some kind of entertainment that wouldn't stop.

John heaved out a soft sigh as he leaned back against the armchair. He swiped a hand over his face, eyes screwed shut. "God," he muttered out as he brought his posture back, typing away at his laptop. _Click. Clack. Click. _He had expected to get into more of his research on a search engine, but his email popped up instead. John must've typed in his email without thinking. He used to do that many times in the past, typing up web addresses to things that he didn't need to check at. His email, for example. But it was done.

Figuring that since he was already there, John realized that he had new messages in his inbox. Curious to what they were, the graying blonde took a closer look at the messages' contents. His blue eyes widened, and his jaw went slack. They were all messages to his abandoned blog. With a thick gulp, John dared to click at the first message. The page refreshed to show the full contents of the mail.

_Some people who are caring have an outstanding ability to stimulate it in those who usually aren't._

_Mycroft Holmes 26 October 13:41_

John rolled his eyes. _Mycroft, of course. What would he want? Wait… is this a message?_ Going straight to the source, a new tab was opened up, revealing that his recent entry now accepted comments. Since when? John didn't know. He never checked his blog since three years ago. Hand shaking, he moved the cursor to hover over the last entry he made. It was about an old friend of his, a renowned man named Sherlock Holmes.

He couldn't believe it. That entry was made three _years _ago. And he found eight comments attached to it. Scrolling past the short memoir and video, John caught sight of the top of the comments. The comment by Mycroft. When he traveled his eyes down to the next couple of comments, he shook his head.

_Sherlock was a despised person by many, but he gave you a reason to care, just as you did to him._

_Mycroft Holmes 26 October 13:45_

_I'm not going to dwell about the relationship between you and my brother, but I do believe he was grateful in having you as a friend._

_Mycroft Holmes 26 October 13:48_

Another sigh elicited from John. He didn't like it at all, the comments. He should probably just delete them. Or not read the rest at all. John didn't know why, but there was a knot in his stomach. And it weakened in firmness when he dared to read the next comment.

_Did you fix the door, john? It's been jammed for weeks now. :( _

_Mrs Hudson 12 March 10:03_

That's right. The door had been jammed for a couple of weeks, and John refused to fix it until he got his work done. Of course, work had came first rather than the condition of the flat he was residing in. He remembered at March 2013 that he encountered the aging, sweet lady one day, and the two finally found someone to fix the door for them.

A brief laugh escaped from the man at the memory that happened two years back. And then, all of a sudden, he stumbled upon another comment. He couldn't possibly stop now. It looked like his boredom had been momentarily cured.

_Hey, John! How're things w/Susie? ;)_

_Harry Watson 9 August 18:22_

_And I've missed you! Call me sometime, ok? x_

_Harry Watson 9 August 18:26_

He was with a wonderful girl named Susie. Well, Suzanne, but John was granted the opportunity to call her Susie. Susie had poreless skin, almost as if she was made of porcelain. She held bright hazel eyes that filled with endearment when she locked those orbs with John's pale blue eyes. It always made his heart flutter. Seeing those eyes of hers. Susie had delicate, curly locks. Blonde. A brilliant blonde, not like him. He was more of a dirty blonde. It was like her hair was made of sunshine. So bright, so intriguing. He certainly fell in love with Susie's looks, but her personality was what enraptured him. Susie was the kind of person that would snark at someone without thinking of the consequences. She was the type of person that would think of a witty reply once she'd been given an insult. She was a lovely, strong girl, that Susie. So incredibly fierce.

God. He could've married her. But that didn't happen. About a year and two months later, Susie had to move due to work, and didn't want to establish a long-distance relationship with John, so she ended it a week before she was scheduled to leave. They still talk, however. Just not as much as they used to. Susie recently met another man, a lawyer named Charlie, and the two were living together. He had to admit, he could've married her if she didn't move. They could have gotten a new home. Have a family. Two kids. A girl and a boy. What a life that would be.

But those dreams could no longer be achieved. Never could. But he didn't care. Not anymore. They both moved on, and that was all that mattered now.

John scrolled down to take another peek at the comments. A smile was written on his features, and the corners of his eyes slanted, growing faint crows' feet. "Oh…"

_It's been a while. How about we catch up with some coffee?_

_Mike Stamford 3 October 8:58_

That was when John had been having a rough week. He'd been annoyed with a few mates that wouldn't stop pestering him about work. He wanted a vacation at the time, almost calling a sick day for that whole week. The thing was, he wasn't even feeling that great at the time. John couldn't get any sleep. He'd been haunted by nightmares about many things. The war, mostly. In the end, Mike had called John about the meeting and agreed to it. After the hour-long talk, John felt more relaxed about his life and ended up calling a sick day.

He was about to close the tab but realized there was another comment left. John furrowed his brows and scrolled a little down to read the sentence.

_If convenient, unlock the door. If inconvenient, do it anyway._

_Anonymous 14 June 15:11_

John reread those set of words once again. It was created today. Confusion painted his face, and John moved his head to look at the door, debating whether he should get up to unlock it or stay in the comforts of the armchair. He did the latter.

His eyes roamed to the corner of the screen, checking the time. 3:18 PM. Yes, it was made today. In fact, it was made seven minutes ago. "What the hell?" he mumbled out softly, the words skating down to his bare feet.

After some time had passed by, probably a couple minutes or so of silence, the short man got up and moved the laptop that was gently set on his lap to the chair's seat. "Okay," he said to nobody in particular and walked over to the door with quiet steps. Once he reached the door frame, the ex-army doctor pressed an ear to the door, trying to hear some kind of noise from the other side. Nothing.

John simply shrugged and walked back to the chair, but halfway to his destination, a knock was entered his ears. His head twirled back to look to the door, the structure and surface of the door burned into the back of his eyes. "Hello?" he questioned timidly. No answer. Well, no _verbal_ answer. Just another knock. "All right, all right," John replied, pacing back over to the door. His hand gripped at the doorknob. It was cold in his hand. Like ice. A shiver ran through his spine, and John retracted his hand away from the item. Then, after a few seconds of recovering, John unlocked it and placed his hand back at the knob.

He took in a sharp inhale. Why was he taking things so slowly? Maybe it was because of the comment. Maybe it was because nobody visited him except for Mrs. Hudson. Maybe it was something completely different from the situation he was in. Just maybe. John cleared his throat roughly to hinder the involuntary cough he made when he took in too much air, and pushed the door open, revealing a crack.

Nobody. At least, not yet.

The force that he put on the door slowly was building up and eventually went to its full capacity, revealing the wooden floor and the flight of stairs that led to the floor below him. And something else. A figure blocked the familiar view. Tall, slender, uncharacteristically real. And just like that, the knot that went dormant in his system tightened.

John's vision adopted black dots, followed by sparks of white. Blinking slowly, he kept staring at the mass in front of him. Black coat, blue scarf, raven-colored hair, calculating pale blue eyes. And the only words that escaped and fell flat to the floor were 'What are you doing here?' No 'You're alive?' or 'I can't believe this,' but 'What are you doing here?' But that's what he wanted to know. What _was_ this person doing here?

"I realized that you saw my comment."

A lazy chuckle slips from him, causing his lips to part. "Yeah, yeah." Shuffling to the side, he raised an arm to gesture for the other person to step in. He did with his head scanning the main room. "So, what-what are you doing here?" And it was the only question he really wanted to find an answer to. He knew the man before him was alive. He certainly couldn't believe it, but Sherlock Holmes was, in fact, here. Right in front of him.

He could've made a million other questions to ask him, but right now, at this very moment, John Watson wanted to know why the famous Sherlock Holmes was at his flat. Yeah, _his_ flat. It'd been his flat for three years now.

The man recognized as Sherlock turned his attention to face his once-beloved blogger. "Must I remind you that it was all just a magic trick?"

And just like that, the memories from 2012 swept to the front of his mind. And it was a magic trick. It always had been. John looked down to his feet, a large smile forming. Oh, how he hated Sherlock for doing such a thing. He'd get to punch and kick the other man any time he'd favor, but right now, John felt the need to laugh. And he did. A sincere, genuine, and completely pure laugh was exhibited, the sound leaking into the atmosphere and dissolving out the open window and into the cracks of the ceiling.

Right. Sometimes, he needed some kind of reminder. And he needed to remind himself to thank Sherlock for that some day.


End file.
